


interitus×decay

by EmlettOmelette, pastarru



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Devestale, Disease, Frisk is a kiddo, Frisk is gender-neutral, Frisk's point of view, Gen, I may sneak some ships into here I don't know yet, I'm totally not doing this instead of doing schoolwork, Papyrus is sick, Pastarru, Pastarru's AU, Sans is depressed, Toriel is paranoid, Undertale AU, everyone is just really depressed, major character death probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2019-08-24 07:20:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmlettOmelette/pseuds/EmlettOmelette, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastarru/pseuds/pastarru
Summary: 201X.Why the "X"? That's because little Frisk wasn't quite the best at counting. They DID know how old they were, though, and they didn't really have the tact to care about much else regarding numbers.Who knew how long ago it was now, but Frisk still remembered when the orphanage was filled with tons of other kids. Now, since the surface went through nuclear fallout, things were a lot different.One morning, while out on a supplies run, they ended up falling down a mountain, where monsters live. A disease called the "Black Mold" has broken out over the entirety of the Underground. Monsters are sick, dying, or long gone already, and nothing will ever be the same as it was before the illness killed the monster king, Asgore. With the cause (or cure) of the disease still unknown and highly contagious, along with no hierarchy left to lead what's left of the monster race, there's only so much a dying kingdom can do. However, Frisk's big heart finds a need to go and try to make things better for the monsters. Little do they know how sad, angry, and dead the Underground is, these days...Welcome to Devastale.





	1. The Rot

   Frisk, even as determined and stubborn as they were, was hesitant at first. Down here, outside the safe confines of their old orphanage bedroom, it was cold, and damp, and it smelled horribly of mildew. Even through their mask. They weren't in their safe bed anymore, out in the elements, and they were scared. Not to mention that they'd always been the type to worry. Frisk worried about everything, more than a child should; they worried about where they left their dolls, or if it bothered the other children in the orphanage that they spoke in ASL. Speaking of which, did they lock their bedroom door? Not important.

   Despite their nerves, they stood and sifted through the bag on their hip for the eleventh time. Supplies were still there, and thankfully not damaged: Sticks, some rations they found in an old soup kitchen, a stack of old Legos stuck together, a cardboard shoebox "full" of well water (they hadn't yet realized their mistake) and a cool rock they found. Then they stood, adjusted the mask and goggles on their chubby kid face, and began to wander. The ground squished unusually under their yellow galoshes. What looked to be dead petals coated the entire ground, and they gave way to their small, grubby hand pressing into them. Frisk pulled back a gooey, blackish brown palm that they quickly wiped off on their shorts. Flies began to swarm around the disturbed area almost immediately after they pulled their hand back.

    Frisk had been out on another supplies run that morning, like they did most mornings. It had been simple enough, the usual - go out, look for people, look for food, be back before four. They followed the same path they always had. Through town, up the mountain, get well water on their way up. But somewhere along the way (they actually weren't sure where they went wrong) something had apparently gone a bit askew and thrown them off completely, because they'd never gotten to the very top before. Usually, they'd have stopped halfway up, at the second well, then turned back. They supposed they followed the wrong trail by mistake, or something or the other, because they just knew it was taking longer than usual to reach their usual stopping point. But, by the time they got there... Clumsy little Frisk, being only six (and nine months, they liked to remember) fell in. So, they ended up here. Amazingly enough, the fall hadn't been nearly as painful as it really should have been. In fact, they didn't feel much anymore. A low ringing in their ears, and a light throbbing in the back of their head, but other than that, Frisk felt fine. Who knew how long they'd been knocked out, though, and some stars still danced around their vision.

    Reluctantly, they pressed on. The childlike desire for adventure eased away any worry they previously had, quickly replacing it with fascination. This new place was all too wonderful to not explore. Yeah, it smelled kind of like a sewer drain and was too dark to navigate, but to them it was a beautiful foreign place nobody else could have known about. Frisk longed for a new place to explore, something else to do in their free time besides play with the same three Hot Wheel cars all day. They had a vivid imagination, surely they could make the most of this. The child would most definitely find some way to enjoy the experience.

    But, almost as if a light switch had been switched off, that wonder quickly stopped, withered, and died.

    In the next room over, laying in the floor, was a corpse. Frisk immediately threw their hands over their mouth, mask and all. The body was old, corroded, decaying... the smell of mildew was getting stronger. Flies, maggots, and moths littered the corpse, which, they noticed, was definitely not human. It looked like a breed of goat, with white, matted fur and little horns, though it had chubby, furry, paw-like hands rather than hooves. For a goat, it looked oddly humanoid, aside from the floppy white ears it had, a tail, goat-like features... the obvious.

    They choked, gagged, and stumbled a few feet back. It reeked of old blood and rotted flesh. No mask could filter a smell so intense and horrible. Mold and fungus grew around the body, and the child fought to cover their eyes. Fingers furled in frizzy locks of dirty brown hair, it threatened to tear out. Had they been able to, they'd have screamed. Where the proper action was absent, they made up for it in emotion, and barely audible sobs. They didn't want to look. They wished they hadn't looked. But now the image of the corpse - lifeless, infested, and gross - was burned into their mind. What was most unsettling, they couldn't ignore, were the gaping, empty eye sockets, eyes likely torn away by some rodent or eaten over time by bugs. Who knew how long the thing had been dead, and who knew what - or who - had killed it. But it smelled long gone, and too spoiled for anything to have wanted to eat it. Tucked away, deep in the skull, there looked to be a flower. They swore they saw it glare at them. Silly child imagination.

    The head lopped to one side, one ear flopping lazily over with it. Frisk stared, but the corpse only stared back. Unblinking. Immobile. It stared for a long time.  
    "Hello..." it spoke.  
    By then, they'd already buried their head between their knees and didn't look up. The body waited patiently for a response, but when it realized it wasn't going to get an answer, it continued politely,  
    "I don't remember you..."  
    Frisk couldn't even blink. They just stared blankly at the ground between their feet. Their breaths were shallow and ragged. They didn't want to see it again.  
    "I can't move. My body is still too broken down..."  
    The body's voice was quiet and weak, cracking in places. Sounded like it hadn't talked in a very long time. Likely, it hadn’t. But what changed? It’s dead. It shouldn’t be talking.  
    But, their big heart began to betray them. Though cautious and worrisome, they often cared too much about others, even if they weren’t even worth it or didn't even care. They allowed themselves to spare a quick glance at its legs. They looked mangled and too decayed to function. But, as they looked closer, they watched as the moths seemed to be at work. Not at eating the clothes, like they'd first thought, but instead they seemed to be working at the body's fur. Hundreds at a time.  
    "They're eating away at the disease..." the body spoke again, "so I may move again."  
    Frisk, of course, said nothing. So the body continued.  
    "The moths will die soon, but... I can almost stand."  
    When Frisk approached it, the flower popped out of the eye. It was golden, unlike the dead ones on the ground, which had all turned black and molded. Amidst the center was a face, small and almost lovable. Until it hissed, and they jumped away again. The flower had teeth.  
    "It's best if you don't get too close... He doesn't like to be touched." The body seemed to frown inwardly, and began to stare ahead, deep in thought. Moments after, it smiled.  
    "He's promised to be nice."  
    With this, they approached again, slower this time. The flower, although angry, didn't protest. They gingerly took a fluffy paw in their hands, and was able to ease the body off of its back and into a sitting position. But, when it came to standing, it fell short and stumbled. Moths fluttered about with the disturbance.  
    "My left leg... it doesn't work."  
    Frisk was already in their bag, prepared to make a splint out of sticks and some rope, but the flower beat them to it. He batted at them with his leaves and ranted incoherently as it worked its vines (roots?) around the body. They wrapped around the left leg and supported the body on two legs, and, after seeming to have heard something Frisk didn't, wrapped around the left arm, as well.

    After some adjusting, the body stood and turned their head to look at them, and smiled politely.  
    "I believe I haven't yet introduced myself, I'm sorry..." the body held a shaky arm out to them, which they took and smiled behind their mask.  
   "My name is Asriel... and this is Flowey."  
    The flower gave a curt nod before slipping back into Asriel's eye socket.  
    "He's a bit mean, but he'll come around. I would know, we're pretty much the same person," Asriel said. He sounded a bit stronger now, more chipper and probably a lot like he used to. When he was, well, still alive. At least, Frisk assumed he was dead.  
    "We _are_ the same person, _idiot_ ," Flowey barked. The small goat paid no mind to him, and instead focused on Frisk. Even without eyes, he was able to portray a variety of different emotions regardless, and even though he was literally falling apart at the seams, Asriel naturally gave off an aura of innocence. Despite the bugs tangled in it and the missing clumps, his fur looked soft.

    "I'd love to hear your name," Asriel grinned expectantly at Frisk. He couldn't see it behind their mask, but they winced and frowned. Instead, they signed, hoping he would understand.  
    'Frisk. My name is Frisk.'  
    "Oh, you talk with your hands?" Asriel seemed lost in a thought, "I can't remember anything very well, but... you remind me of someone."  
    Frisk only shrugged.

    "Oh, dear... I forgot to check the rot again!" a woman's voice, not too far away, rambled aimlessly as she walked. Asriel, upon hearing this, perked up in anticipation. Flowey, however, did quite the opposite and sunk into his place in Asriel's eye. It was hard for Frisk to believe they were ever the same person, and they made note to ask about it later.  
    "Dear, I haven't been down in a week- Oh!" the woman stopped upon approach. She was another goat, only she was a lot taller and more... well, put together, frankly. She dressed strangely, and smelled clean, like lavender soap. Frisk took her white coat and surgical mask as normal, however, knowing it wasn't unusual to wear such protective clothing where they were from. But they supposed that anyone who lived this far underground would not have needed it. Or did people always dress this way?  
    "My child! Come with me, please, before you get sick!" The woman was by their side in an instant with baby wipes and disposable latex gloves, rubbing their hands down thoroughly before stretching the gloves over them. She picked at the dried dirt and scuffs on their palms, much like a germaphobic mother would her child after spending a day out. After she was finished, and Frisk’s hands were pink and raw under the gloves, she smiled warmly behind her mask at the child, and paused.  
    "Say, didn't you have someone with you just now?"  
    The cave was completely barren other than them, not a trace of life anywhere. Asriel had completely disappeared, leaving nothing but a quickly dying flutter of moths in his place. They watched them fall, one by one, to the ground until the last one, straggling for just two seconds, dropped dead to the flowers below. Somehow, he’d been able to slip away right as Frisk was focused on the woman. How? Frisk was very observant.

    “Nevermind that, come, child, you’ll get sick here.”

    The goat woman guided them out of the room, rambling about how she hadn’t seen a human child in a very long time, but Frisk wasn’t paying attention. They were too busy staring behind them, looking for any significance that Asriel hadn’t just disappeared. They swore, just for a split second, that they saw a glimpse of gold out of the corner of their eye.

\---  
Save?  
        Yes ❤        No  
\---

 


	2. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk has fallen into the Underground, and is occupying their time talking to a sweet woman in the Ruins.

    The woman, Frisk found, was a tad neurotic. She constantly fretted over the smallest of things, always warned not to touch something nearby and was quick to shoo away any bugs that flew by. Frisk, luckily, was used to this kind of behavior - the old woman who used to watch the children of their orphanage often acted this way. So it didn't really bother them that she tended to coddle them, even if they really didn't need it.

    She rambled a lot, as well, to the point where even Frisk wasn't able to keep up with what she was saying. They were pretty sure they heard her say her name at least twice now, but they'd been so caught up in trying to keep up with her fast walking that they'd forgotten to actually hear what she was saying. Being a taller woman, she took much longer strides than their short kid legs could even hope to imitate, resulting in them having to run to keep up with her. They only were able to stop when she paused to solve some quick puzzle before hurrying off again.  
    "We're making good time," she said, hopeful, "we should be home in about ten minutes, if there are no complications."  
    For the first time in the entire walk from the rot to where they were standing, the goat woman was able to get a good look at the child following her. She'd been so focused on getting from point A to point B that she'd completely forgotten her manners, something the woman had always been particular about. First impressions, regardless of the situation, were always important. She fumbled over her words and anxiously shifted her weight.  
    "Dear, I suppose I've been quite rude, haven't I? Where are my manners..." she bent to the child's height and smiled behind her mask, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "My child, what is your name?"  
    The question wasn't going anywhere, so Frisk signed without hesitation this time.  
    'My name is Frisk.'  
    It was then that the child removed their goggles and lifted their mask. They both rested on top of their head, messy brown hair sticking out at all angles.  
    "My apologies, child, you just," she paused to swipe off a clump of dried dirt stuck to their cheek, "you just reminded me of someone. They also spoke with their hands."  
    They smiled wide, showing off their lack of front bottom teeth. She, looking not as stressed as before, was able to relax a little and take the mask off her face for a moment to introduce herself. She looked a lot like Asriel when she smiled.

    "My name is Toriel, dear," she said, "it's a pleasure to meet such a sweet young child."  
They continued (slower, this time) through the Ruins for quite a long time. Toriel held their hand now, allowing herself to forget her paranoia for the sake of manners and being a good host. Even in times like these, she knew she likely wouldn't have anyone else to talk to for quite a while, so she mustn't make them feel unwelcome.  
    "I've been living alone in these Ruins for years..."  
    It certainly looked that way. Most of the corridors they walked through looked old, and worn down. The purple brick had long since begun to crack and crumble, what wasn't now covered in a thick layer of dust or mold. The floor was so dirty that they left footprints where the dust had been disturbed. Abandoned cobwebs littered the corners, and there were no other living things left in the Ruins besides them and the overpopulation of bugs. No matter how many times Frisk swatted them away, flies still buzzed irritably in their ears.  
    "After the rot began to form, everyone... didn't quite make it. Well, everyone except me," she expertly led them through every twist and turn they came across. Toriel knew the entire Ruins like the back of her hand, despite her ever-present hate of the place. "So I stay here and make sure the rot never leaves. Admittedly, it is quite lonely here, so it's a lovely surprise having you here."  
    'What happened to everyone else?' they had to repeat themselves a few times before Toriel noticed they were signing, but she knew what they said, at least.  
    "The sickness got to them, even the ones who guarded the exit, through the doors in my home. Though I never wish you to go through there."  
    At that moment, a house came into sight. It was a cute, tidy looking home, a stark contrast to the mess and mold surrounding it. She obviously took very good care of it.  
    "Through the doors, the disease has still manifested. Only there, it is cold, and harsh. Every day, it takes another monster's life. This mold is much more powerful than us."  
    She looked solemn, and grew quiet. Toriel was still grieving, though she'd rather not say it aloud (admitting such a thing would only prompt her to grow more emotional.) And what kind of host would she be, to become so emotionally invested in something while guests are surely hungry? No, this could wait. She had a lovely visitor to bake for.

    Her home was bright. The lights were near blinding against the pale walls, which looked as though they'd been scrubbed so clean the paint had faded. Not a speck of dust could be found anywhere, not even the roof, which also looked as if it'd been repeatedly cleaned so many times the textured ceiling had been nearly sanded down to nothing. Furniture everywhere was covered in plastic wrap, and a mop and bucket leaned against the banister of some stairs. The entire home smelled like a hospital.  
    "This is my home, my child."  
    Toriel looked relieved to be in such a clean house, taking in (for what seemed like the first time in a while) a deep breath of clean air. Following this, as if routine, she turned, locked all of several locks on the front door, took the plastic-covered boots off her feet, and finally threw her mask and gloves in a trash bin by the door.

    "Now, are you hungry?"

**+++**

    Despite being so paranoid, Toriel was a fantastic cook. Even though the food had been a bit overdone, (she was always worried about germs on the food,) it was by far the best food Frisk had ever eaten. When all you had to eat was freeze-dried rations and canned goods, with no idea how to work a stove, one didn't exactly eat like royalty.

    "Slow down, child, there's plenty of food left, don't worry," she laughed, carrying in another plate of snail pie. Frisk was an absolute delight to cook for. Nobody had appreciated her cooking this much in years, and it brought a warm smile to the mother's face.  
    "It's so nice to have someone to cook for again."  
    The idea of Asriel came to mind, but Frisk was too focused on their eating to ask. Toriel was trying to narrow her millions of questions down to one or two at a time, but the idea of finally having someone to talk to was too exciting. She was a lonely old woman, and longed for someone to keep her company. This was an opportunity for things to get better, she thought, the only opportunity to have someone to take care of again. She missed her children dearly. A mother's heart will always wish for a child to care for.  
    "It's been so long since I've had someone to talk to."  
    Frisk paused in their eating to give the woman a questioning look, as if to ask exactly how long it's been. Surely, someone would go crazy after so long of not talking to others? Yet again, Frisk noted, they hadn't. But they were mute.  
    "Oh, well," the woman reverted back to her anxious behavior, "a couple of months. I have a friend who speaks from behind the door, but... he hasn't said hello in a while."  
    Frisk made sure to emphasize their interest. Even after years of not talking to anyone, they remembered pretty clearly the lessons on mannerisms taught by their speech therapist. Being mute, expressions were important.  
    "He was always talking about his brother," she recalled, smiling at the idea of a friend, but it quickly dropped as she continued, "I do hope they're quite alright."  
    They gave a reassuring smile, and signed, assuring they're alright, and probably just busy. Toriel seemed to relax a little.  
    "Thank you, dear. It's very kind of you."  
    Toriel stood, taking their clean plate and carrying it off to the kitchen before returning. Wiping her paws off on her dress, and straightening the red glasses falling down on her face, the old woman wrung her wrists out of habit.  
    "But let's not worry about silly old me," she offered Frisk a fuzzy hand, which they took and hopped out of their chair. Giving another endearing smile, she chuckled, "Would you like a tour of the house, my child?"  
    Giggling, they nodded and ran through the house, nearly slipping on the waxed wood floor. The mother laughed and tried to steady them.

    "And... This is your room!" She concluded, beaming ear to ear. The child hastily ran inside, eager to see what adventures awaited them. The room was bright red and toys were neatly placed around the trim of the room. On the bed sat a pile of books, ranging from picture books to history books, most of which on monster history and lore. They immediately opened one entitled _"The History of Humans and Monsters."_  
    "I see you like to read, my child!" Toriel looked pleased, "I read a lot, myself... That's a very good one. Well, I'll leave you to it!"  
    So she left, closing the door behind her, leaving Frisk alone to their reading. The book was heavy in their tiny hands, and despite showing signs of wear, looked very loved and taken care of. Toriel must really respect her books, they thought, and handled the book with the same amount of respect as they imagined she would've. They read carefully the stories old as time, of the great war between the humans and the monster race. How the humans locked the monsters underground with a spell so powerful that a thousand monster souls couldn't shatter it. As they read, they began to notice a stack of loose papers toward the back, and gently took them out. They were all hand-written, in small, neat cursive. At the top, it read _"The Continued History of the Monster Race."_

    _To whomever may be reading this now, I urge you to take these notes and treasure them, for by now I am surely gone from this world and the next. For something so valuable as these notes to be lost to time, as I am, would be a tremendous loss to what I hold in high regard, as_ _imperative_ _contributions to science as we perceive it today. Though these notes may be only my unfinished work, and I regret to inform you that I wasn't able to carry on this study for personal reasons, I believe what is written here is still relevant to its original purpose. It is from this that I ask of you, dear reader, to take what's written here with a grain of salt, and understand that this would be only my hypothesis. It is also my wish to inform you that only those I trust should be able to read these notes, so if the next few pages are illegible to you, I greatly encourage you to put these notes back where you found them and go about your day; this does not concern you._

_\- W.D._

    Charts and graphs littered pages and pages of research, all written in code, and so small Frisk could hardly believe it was legible. Several sketches of flowers and diagrams of monster anatomy, and what seemed to describe something or the other of a form of... living dead tissue? Or, perhaps more likely, the possibility of such an occurrence, given several other components represented as various doodles.

    Frisk had never been too bright; maybe that was because they'd hardly had anyone to teach them much, or maybe it was just because they were only six. But they understood that something like this meant only one thing - adventure. And that was a temptation too difficult to resist. The endless possibilities of a new, actually living world was fascinating. They jumped up off the bed, putting the notes neatly in their bag, and the book next to it in the floor. The bed creaked when they jumped on it, burying their face in the fluffy pillows. Tired, and anticipating learning more about such a strange new world, they slept and dreamt of life outside those doors... they really hoped Toriel would fill them in when they woke up.

 **\---**  
**Save?**  
**Yes ❤     No**  
**\---**


	3. Quarantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk is a life coach.

    The house was quiet when Frisk awoke. Being underground, they had no way of telling whether it was night or day, so they just assumed they'd slept through the night, and that it was now morning. Knowing it was likely earlier than Toriel was used to waking, they started to rummage through their stack of books before noticing a plate of pie in the floor near their feet. They gratefully took the fork and ate it in heaps. Still warm, it tasted like butterscotch and cinnamon (they knew because they'd once eaten a handful of both stored away in an old bakery, just to try it,) and it melted in their mouth. They could get used to this.

    They read a picture book about a fluffy bunny while they ate, which was apparently the fifth rendition to the series. Frisk didn't know who half the characters were, but they enjoyed it nonetheless. After they finished eating, they sat their plate down on the bed and began to look around. Old pictures of buttercups were hung on the walls, all perfectly aligned and dusted clean of any dirt or grime that could possibly be there. The toys looked especially old, and worn - one teddy goat was missing an eye, a yellow button sloppily sewn on in replacement to the black bead on the other side. Other than stuffed animals and a bed, all that was left in the room was a small nightstand (occupying only another picture of a flower and a lamp) and a closet that Frisk was quick to investigate. They flung the doors open, revealing nothing but empty flower pots and some old clothes. How boring. They rummaged through the closet, though, finding nothing of interest besides a hooded parka, which they took out to inspect. It was purple with blue and white tassels at the bottom, and on the front was a symbol that Frisk didn't recognize. It looked handmade. They took it, however, folding it neatly and putting it in their bag. Left with nothing else to do, they picked up their book from last night, flipping through it as they walked through the house. Toriel was nowhere to be found, but was likely awake, judging by the pie. Remembering where her room was located, they went to check on her. Faintly, from the inside of her room, they heard crying. Frisk knocked.  
    The woman immediately dried her eyes, and fumbled to reach the door.  
    "Good morning, child! My apologies, I wasn't there when you woke up-" she paused at the concerned look on the child's face, and sighed, "you could hear me, couldn't you?"  
    The child nodded. She sighed again.  
    "Stars, I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean to worry you... an old woman like me just can't help it, you know, when you've been alone for as long as I have." She allowed the child in the room and sat on her bed, seeming tired. "I haven't slept a bit all night."  
    Frisk gave a look of worry and pressed the book in their arms further into their chest. A spark of determination in their narrow, coal black eyes, they held up the book in front of them. The goat woman smiled.  
    "You want to read me a story?"  
    They nodded.  
    "My child," she laughed, a paw over her heart, "you are very sweet. You know, that was my son's favorite one."  
    They ran a tan finger gently over the gold-engraved writing on the leather cover, noticing a scratch over the letter 'o' in 'monsters.'  
    "My son was my pride and joy. You would've liked him, child." The mother spoke with nothing but fondness in her voice. Toriel adored her son, it wasn't hard to tell. She expressed nothing but love and admiration at the idea of her lovely son, she could go on for hours about her dear Asriel.  
    "What I wouldn't do to tell him I love him, to hold him in my arms again..."  
    Frisk, while still cautious, dared ask what happened to him.  
    "Indeed, I haven't explained that much, have I...?"

    "I suppose I should start from the beginning. Back when the humans had just won the war, we were sent here, to the Underground, to live for the rest of our lives. My ex-husband, king Asgore, and I weren't able to do much about it, so we built our kingdom here, and tried to continue on with our lives. We were blessed with our only son, Asriel, and thus we became the royal family. After a few years underground, a human child fell down, much like you, and we took them in and raised them as our own. You remind me a lot of them, child." Toriel smiled, prompting Frisk to grin and kick a foot.  
    She continued, gravely.  
    "But... soon, they fell ill. We hadn't the slightest idea what caused it, but whatever it was, it had caused them to be violently sick. Not even a day after, Asriel contracted the same illness. And, eventually, after a few weeks, my husband and I lost both our children in the same afternoon, and with them died all of my soul."

    Frisk was silent, as usual, but they wouldn't've been able to say anything, anyway. Toriel was now in tears, again, to which Frisk used their sleeve to wipe them away with a reassuring smile. The woman, touched, only hugged them.  
    "Thank you, dear."

+++

    Toriel, sitting placidly by the fire, hummed sweetly as she read. She was, truly, the sweetest person in existence, and nothing could convince them otherwise. The talk they'd had earlier had really gotten Frisk to thinking, and though they wanted to investigate themselves, they gathered that it was smarter to just ask Toriel instead. They looked up from their toys laid out on the floor to grab her attention from across the room.  
    "Yes, my child?"  
    'I'd like to know more about the disease.' They knew they would need to tread carefully here, so they ran over what they said before they signed it.  
    'I know it's a sensitive topic, but I'm confused, and I want to know more.'  
    For a child with so little people experience, they knew quite a lot about emotion and working in sensitive situations. Frisk was definitely more emotionally intelligent than anything else. They were able to read others and understand their own emotions quite well for a child of their age and experience.  
    Toriel, though understanding, sighed, and shut her book.  
    "Well, I suppose you're right. It's only natural for a young child to be curious about something like this."  
    For a long time, she sat in place and stared at her feet. As if thinking. And she thought for a long time, until eventually, looking up at the small human, she grimaced, picking up an old book off a nearby shelf.  
    "What all do you know, child?"  
    This took a moment to understand. Frisk believed she had meant what they knew about the disease. But that thought turned into another bigger question of, "what do you know about _anything_?" And... that's not an easy question to answer.

    What _did_ they know? Well, they knew what life was, and what humans were and what they were made of. Frisk knew the difference between night and day, and they could probably name a few different breeds of cats off of the top of their head. They knew the names of some countries, and at least nine of the fifty states, and they knew all the colors of the rainbow and how to use correct grammar (not that they would ever speak to use it, though.) They knew how to write their name in cursive, and how to whistle. For a kid, they thought they were pretty smart. But, in actuality, they probably didn't know more things than they knew.  
    So, they shrugged.

    "Silly question," Toriel laughed, and waved them off. "Allow me to start over. What do you know about the disease?"  
    Oh. That was a lot easier.  
    'Only what you've told me.'  
    That was only slightly a lie. But they decided maybe it wasn't a great idea to bring up the fact that they talked to Toriel's dead son only seconds before meeting her. So, they had a reason to lie.  
    "Alright, then. Well, the rot - the thing you were standing in when you fell - is one of two spawns in the Underground. The other resides in the castle, at the other end of our world."  
    Frisk situated themselves more comfortably in their spot on the floor, knowing full well they would likely be sitting still and listening for quite a while.  
    "It formed when my two children were buried there, and the other when my husband was buried. And, as you saw before... it will continue to grow until it reaches this place."  
    They hadn't noticed it before, but when they looked around, they started to notice tiny spots around the house where it looked like the mold had started to develop. Though Toriel was quick to scrub it away when she saw what had caught their attention, they realized then that her time was really running out. It had already started to reach her home, and when it did, what then? What would she do?  
    "The disease is still so new, even though it's taken out over half the population in recent years. So not much is known about it... let alone a cure."  
    It was like her queen-ly instinct kicked in right then. Her face grew serious, and her eyes hardened, stone cold. As if every inch of kindness had left her at that moment, her shoulders stiffened and she gravely continued,  
    "We are all bound to the fate the Black Mold chooses."  
    After that... nobody really knew what to say. So, they sat in solemn silence, and thought.

    And Frisk thought about it for the rest of the day. They carried on with basic conversation, but the topic lingered in the back of their mind until they went to bed that night.  
    _No,_ they thought, _No. You're not gonna get involved in this._  
    But they knew that their heart was too big for their own good, and they could already tell this was gonna be one of those things they were dead set on doing for whatever reason. Kids are like that. They find something - could be anything, really, and it may not even be all that important to begin with - and for days at a time they're so focused on that thing. All they think about, all they do. But then, after a bit, they run out of steam and forget about it. Only Frisk wasn't like other kids. Therefore, if they were heavily invested in something, whether it be a great new discovery or a frivolous task, more often than not, they made sure they acted on it. Needless to say, they cared too much about others to not want to do something about the whole situation. And although they weren't entirely sure what helping could imply, they were a little too reckless and kind to consider it much before coming to a decision.  
    They shot out of bed, braver than ever and determined as usual. Who knew what epic adventure lied ahead, but they were fully convinced they had what it takes to assist in a cause so cardinal in the lives of, who knew, maybe thousands of monsters Underground. They didn't know. They didn't know anything. Naivety, as in most children, was a predominant flaw in their plan, they'd admit. But when had that ever stopped them? Besides, it sure beat life on the surface. That was boring. Same stuff every day, same places, same old junk. All that jazz. So boring for a child with such a demanding imagination.

    They raced through the hall, finding Toriel in her room, about to head to bed. She wore a cute little sleep cap.  
    "My child, I thought you had went off to bed!" She put down the pillow she had previously been slipping into a pillow case. "What is it, dear?"  
    She saw the look in their eyes long before they'd brought up their hands to sign the words;  
    _'I want to save the Underground.'_

 **\---**  
**Save?**  
**Yes ❤   No**  
**\---**


	4. Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins.

        Conversation the following morning between the two had been brief. Though Frisk felt bad, they made a point to keep a neutral face the whole morning, in order not to spark any more questions than what was already to be expected. It wasn't until the old woman had gotten up, and taken the plates left from their breakfast into the kitchen before she began to panic, however.  
    "Dear, I don't believe you understand how serious this is!" Toriel was a nervous wreck. She'd been pacing all morning, (Frisk had every right to suspect that she hadn't gotten much sleep, either,) and she was beginning the rub the fur off of her wrists from wringing them so much. The poor woman was worried sick for the child.  
    "Maybe give it a few day's thought, perhaps sleep on it another night?"  
    Frisk shook their head.  
    "What if you get lost? Or hurt? Or kidnapped? Oh, allow me to come with you, dear, please-"  
    'Mom, I'll be okay.' They signed, hefting their bag more securely over their shoulder. A gas mask, the one they've had for years now (and had a variety of sparkly, motivational cat stickers on the inside) was resting on top of their head. A mop of brown hair covered their eyes, and they brushed it out of their face, giving a grin and two thumbs up. The woman didn't look any more at ease. She massaged the sides of her head and mumbled under her breath about how she was too old to be worrying this much.  
    "My dear, I am afraid you are too young, too naive to be wandering in such a toxic place alone! The king, the king, _Asgore!_ He'll- I'm afraid he'll-"  
    She paused. Staring down, her eyes dulled and watered, but she cleared her throat. Oh, dear. Frisk already began to worry.  
    "I suppose there's nothing to worry of, then," she spoke, hoarse. She didn't look up at all. "Allow me to help ready you for the journey, then, child."

    She assisted them in readying for the cold climates she said to expect from the outside world. A layer of black cloth pants under their shorts, tight to their legs, and another black shirt under their sweater ensured they'd last at least an hour's trek into the Underground, but the heavy black cloak they draped around them guaranteed they could venture for quite longer without issue. The back illustrated the same emblem they'd seen around Toriel's house, in a silver thread embellished into the velvet. The back also had a little set of cartoon-y black wings, made of the same cloth and sticking out by either some kind of wire-lining, or perhaps magic. When asked, the sweet woman only smiled, embarrassed, and explained that it used to be her son's; he had begged her to sew fake wings onto it, so he could be "the ultimate God of Hyperdeath!!!"

    How precious.

    By the time they were ready, they'd been heavily equipped for the cold weather, mask and goggles included and bag at their side. The woman, as if growing emotional, had to blow her nose into a tissue.  
    "I understand, child, that you must go, but," she chewed her nails as she talked, "I'm so worried about you, dear."  
    She broke down into a crying mess in the floor, pulling the small child into a hug. Their chubby, gloved hands rubbed circles into her back, using what little they understood about emotions to determine how to comfort her. What they were doing seemed to have worked well enough.  
    "Make me proud, dear," she said, "and be safe, would you?"  
    It was best if they left without the sad goodbyes, so they nodded, turned, headed off (hesitantly) down the stairs, and out the doors.

    In the dark room ahead, something stirred in the shadows. Whispered.  
    "You left...?"  
    It was Asriel, whom Frisk quickly ran to assist. It appeared his legs had grown too tired to carry his weight for the day. He grinned weakly at their clothes, whereas Flowey gawked and grew angry.  
    " _That's ours!_ "  
    Asriel silenced him by clamping a paw over his eye socket, scolding Flowey as he bit his palm.  
    "Not anymore, and besides," he grinned, and offered a reassuring thumbs up. "They look better in it than I did."  
    "Than _we_ did. You neglect that we did used to be the same person, you know."  
    "Learn to share, Flowey. Frisk can have it if..." he paused, grew anxious, and asked, "uhh... sorry- uh, sorry to ask... but are you a girl, or a boy?"  
    Frisk blinked, and cocked their head to one side.  
    "Uh, I-I mean! Just! Asking! So I don't, um... hurt your feelings." His hands were fiddling nervously.  
    Frisk continued to think, unsure of what he meant. They... didn't know. Being alone for so long didn't prompt much need for verification in such categories such as sex, so really they took to their own choice of expression for an answer.  
    ... They shrugged.  
    'Niether.'  
    "Oh, ok!" Asriel looked at ease. "Makes things easier, I suppose!"  
    Flowey snorted, and mumbled,  
    "Let's just hope that fans keep you gender-neutral-"  
    Asriel slammed a paw over his eye socket again.

    "So I suppose you're going to go back to the surface, then?" He seemed sad, even when they shook their head. "Back home, with your family. Friends. I'm jealous."  
    Family? Friends? Heck, Frisk hadn't even seen another living human in the past 4 years! He had _nothing_ to be jealous of.  
    'Why can't you go home?'  
    He shook his head.  
    "It's not like I can go back to mom. Look at me. I'm a mess." He grabbed at a torn piece of his sweater, ripping a bit more of the hem as he talked. "Seeing me like this, mom would break down. I'm pushing my luck just hanging around here, but I can't bear to leave."  
    Tears welled in his eyes, and ran down his face. They were beautiful, a pearly gold color that sparkled as it moved. It looked like liquid buttercups, like the ones they saw in the pictures in their room.  
    Frisk, only knowing what hugs have done with Toriel, gave him a firm hug.

    ...

    He nuzzled his face into their neck, and cried.  
    "I know you're not them, but..."

    ...

    "I miss you, Chara."

**+++**

    _Cold._  
    It was really, _really_ , cold.  
    They were Underground, how could it be snowing? Not to mention, snowing so hard that they couldn't see through the lenses of their goggles, no matter how many times they brushed away the snow. Needless to say, they were thankful for their slightly insulated mask.  
    Propped up against the wall near the door was a tree limb, about three times the size of them. It looked like it had gotten so icy it broke off. They snapped a long stick off of it, and used it to support them as they trudged shins deep in snow, cloak billowing in the wind.

    In the distance, two dark eyes watched intently. From behind a tree, a few feet deep into the forest, someone stood. They didn't move, still as a statue, eyes locked on the small, cloaked figure making their way through the snowstorm.  
    _It happened._ He thought. _I didn't expect that._  
    He moved under cover of the forest, protecting him from the harsh winds and ice. This was really the only reason he would ever exert himself to much degree. But this was important. The child stumbled, but continued over the bridge, which creaked under their weight. His grin stretched.  
    _Now._  
    They fell on their butt.  
    Bones shot up out of the ground in front of them. They panicked, turned, and darted back. Another wall boxed them in.  
    He stayed hidden for a moment, keeping a distance to observe. What they did next determined how he would act.  
    They stood, slipping more than a few times as they scrambled to find a way out. The child, frantic, stopped, back to the front wall, and didn't move. He noticed they'd stopped breathing, their shoulders no longer moving with shallow breaths.  
    _What next, kid?_

    They stayed completely still. Where could they go? There was no way out, not that they could see. The wall - they weren't sure what it was made of - didn't allow them to slip by. Was it magic? Was it a trap, set to capture humans, as Toriel warned?  
    Frisk took the stick, and, with all their strength, hit the bars of the bridge. A loud, low ring of metal lingered in the air for a while.  
    A small _pop_ and a puff of smoke later (though Frisk didn't see that part,) a figure appeared.  
    "I don't have time for introductions, so I'll get to the point." The monster's voice was deeper than any voice Frisk had ever heard. He moved to merely inches away from their mask, hood and scarf preventing them from seeing his face... and stared.  
    And stared.  
    And _stared_.  
    Then nodded.  
    "Yep. You'll work." He hummed, backed up, and the walls dissipated.  
    "Listen, kid. I don't have the energy to explain everything to you, so I'll cut to the chase," he sighed, tucking a red scarf lovingly beneath his chin, "You're a human. You have to come with me."  
    They immediately backed away. He took a step forward.  
    "Look. I don't have the most patience... I'm beggin' ya, kid."  
    Looking at his face closer, Frisk couldn't tell if he was angry or desperate. He was a skeleton, and was wearing a surgical mask. On it was a sloppily drawn on grin with teeth, but underneath they could see that he wasn't smiling. He actually looked pretty unhappy.  
    Still, they shook their head, and signed.  
    'I don't know you.'  
    The poor guy looked more confused than anything.  
    "Kid, I don't know what, _this_ ," he attempted to mimick their signing, but failed, "means... but if ya wouldn't mind, I really need your help, here."  
    Still, they didn't budge. Even though they'd never really been around people much until here recently, they knew better than to just follow anyone they met.  
    The skeleton sighed.  
    "Would it help if I introduced m'self?"  
    They thought for a moment, figuring maybe if they established a mutual trust, the tension would ease. A nod, and they stuck a hand out for him to shake. An amused expression crossed his skull.  
    "Arright, then," he chuckled, taking their hand to shake, "the name's Sans. Sans the skeleton. Great to make yer acquaintance."  
    He recalled a time when the old Sans would've used the opportunity for his signature gag, the whoopee cushion in the hand trick, his favorite. But he frowned, as the reminder that those were simpler times smacked him clear across the face. Sans wished it was still so easy to laugh and joke around.  
    'Frisk. Frisk the human.'  
    "Still can't understand ya, kiddo."

**+++**

    Sans had said that he was too tired to use his 'shortcut,' whatever that meant, (and it didn't make a whole lot of sense, considering it would take less energy to take a shorter route,) so they'd set off together on foot. Fighting the wind was definitely an experience Frisk wouldn't prefer to have to go through again, but Sans seemed to be used to it. Which, now that they thought about it, he likely was. Eventually, they came across a town. Burned out Christmas lights were strung around a sign they couldn't read, but they didn't need a sign to tell them that this place was really run-down. It was as if nobody had lived there in years.  
    "Welcome to Snowdin, kid!" Sans had to shout over the howling wind.

 **\---**  
**Save?**  
**Yes ❤  No**  
**\---**


	5. Con Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new challenger approaches.

        Somewhere, in some dark alleyway, the small, rapid pittering of spider legs could be heard making their way through the area. Under cover of darkness, she moved quickly and quietly enough to remain undetected. Inwardly, she complimented herself on her stealth. The dark figure made its way through an alley, made a sharp right, and continued into the next. And the next. A spark of glee put more of a bounce in her steps, and she grinned. She was fast, and she knew that. Faster than anyone else in the Underground. If needed, she could (and would) outrun anyone who could possibly as a potential threat to her or her career. Some might call her cowardly; she preferred the term "physically reserved."  
    _Tap tap tap._ She kept running, showing no signs of slowing down. Gold jingled in her bag, crammed hastily into her pocket of her jacket, as she ran into a clearing. Pausing only for a split second, she looked around to gather her bearings. Millions of spider eyes carefully scanned the area and recognized the familiar layout of old trash cans and biohazard barrels. Again she took off, weaving through alley after alley. Nobody could even be heard behind her anymore, but once again she didn't seem to slow.

    So, her abrupt stop startled the spiders following in tow. If he hadn't been used to such foolishness on their part, she might've stepped on a few of them. But she was able to maneuver her way around the clumsy pile of insects. They ranted angrily amongst themselves, knowing better than to ever smart off to the boss, though voices small and incoherent. This prompted her to hold up one of thirty fingers, aggressive in her actions, to shut them up.  
    What was _that?_  
    She brought a thin, purple hand up to the shell of her ear to listen. There was only silence. But she knew better, only a fool would let their guard down so easily. She _knew_ she heard something. The spider waited.  
    There! There it was _again_ , the sharp brush of cloth against brick. She heard the fibers catch on the rough clay. Then, a slight misplacement of feet, a short scuff of a shoe. Her smile widened, maliciously.  
    _Sloppy_.  
    The figure skittered into the dark, hopefully undetected in her efforts to conceal herself from the potential threat. She listened again. Nothing.  
    _Drat. They saw me._  
    It physically pained her to admit that, even if it was only to herself. Then-!  
    _Crash!_  
    A pile of barrels toppled over, another figure ran out of the clearing. Fast, but she was faster. Within seconds, she sprang into action and pinned the monster. It shrieked.  
    _... Oh._  
    She let up.  
    "What are you _doing_ here?!" Two purple hands gestured angrily as she talked, the other four crossed defensively over her midsection. "You threw me off, _rat!_ "  
    Occasionally, she would bat at her bangs covering the top row of eyes, but she focused mostly on the small monster now standing in front of her. She was very good at intimidation, though she knew if word got out that she wasn't as sweet and kind as her campaigns made her out to be, her sales would drop. Dramatically. Though she maintained the right to defend her business's well-being (and, just as importantly, her reputation,) she also just wasn't the nicest person. It wasn't hard for her to be rude. The thought of her wallet emptying brought a bitter scowl to her face.  
    "Ver sors... look for supplies, for... TEM FLAKES!!"  
    The spider woman sighed.  
    "Temmie, for the last time. It's just construction paper. _Paper!_ I bet I have a whole stack at home, actually!"  
    The small cat/dog monster thing jumped ecstatically, eyes glittering with excitement. Her tail shook gleefully.  
    "Could... Tem HAVE?!"  
    She sighed again, this time shooting a glare to the smartass remarks her spiders were making behind her. Rubbing her face with her free hands, she mumbled irritably about how she really didn't have the energy or the patience for a playdate today. Or _any_ day, really. Her mind briefly wandered to her bag.  
    "No, Temmie, you _can't-_ " she had to pause to take a deep breath through her nose, "you can't... eat paper."  
    This conversation was getting old, fast. Distantly, she heard the fast, angry footsteps of her pursuer catching wind of where she had escaped to. She was quick to panic, grabbing a fistful of the Temmie's shirt and yanking upward, pulling her up with it with a yelp.  
    "Listen, _vermin,_ " she spat, merely inches from her face, "you didn't see me. _Am I understood?!_ "  
    Temmie's head nodded fiercely.  
    "Excellent."  
    She flashed her fangs once before running off again; only seconds later did the man, enraged, follow suit.

    But she was able to make it to the stage before he could reach her. Monsters cheered and applauded at her arrival, to which she gladly repaid with one of her (fake) signature grins. She waved and tittered giddily at the crowd's praise, occasionally blowing a kiss into the crowd and bowing gratefully. She played the part well.  
    "Thank you! You're all such great people, thank you!"  
    ... A little _too_ well. It was almost laughable.  
    She hadn't really gotten to her spiel about her products before the angry monster arrived, however, jumping onto the collapsible stage with her and her spiders.  
    "Thief! She's nothing but a fraud!" He shouted. The crowd murmured, some backing away from the stage or growing visibly more wary of their children. "Your business is a lie, your products have done _nothing!_ I lost my wife because of you! You're nothing but a lying thief!"  
    The audience chattered uneasily. Muffet didn't even need to call security, her spiders were fast and easily removed the _disturbance_ from the stage. Though he continued to shout, the crowd dismissed him as simply an unsatisfied customer and resumed their applause. Some chatted amongst themselves.  
    _"Wow. That's the second one this month."_  
_"What's his problem?"_  
_"Probably crazy."_  
_"Mold must've really gotten to the guy."_  
    Arguably relieved, she was more than happy to take in the spotlight.  
    "I announce a new revolution in health as we know it today!"  
    The crowd roared. She really had them now.  
    "No more will we lose our families to such a terrible fate! No longer will we suffer the cold, icy grip of the mold!"  
    She really had to sell this demo. If she didn't, it was less money in her bank account later. But she _had_ to stop thinking like this, it was beginning to make her nauseous.  
    "I can still remember when my products were still in development! I started at nothing, I know what it's like! I couldn't move, I couldn't leave my home! But then, I discovered _this!_ "  
    Her spiders ripped a sheet away from a table displayed a variety of different products, all under the false advertisement that they would cure your disease. And even though it was the same showing as always, the crowd reacted with a collective gasp and the occasional "ooo," before erupting into applause again.

    Of course, everything she was spitting out was fake. Every ounce of her speech was a ruse, meant only to bring in gold by the bags while she basked in her own fame. Sure, the main ingredient _helped,_ or else nobody would buy it. But it didn't cure anything. Though she believed she'd been onto something by advertising her lavender as a cure. As far as she knew (or cared, honestly,) _nothing_ could cure the disease. But, boy, did she have everyone else fooled.  
    "Admire Miss Muffet's lavender products, guaranteed to cure your ailments!"  
    Spiders tossed boxes into the crowd - boxes of tea, foods that we're supposedly infused with lavender, oils, even seeds, that you were supposed to be able to plant and grow your own medicine ("For the pharmaceutical in your life!™")

    They didn't know the difference between seeds and pebbles. Real seeds were _significantly_ smaller, and it took quite a few at once to grow one plant. The falsies she sold were just little pebbles she found around her home. They didn't grow anything, obviously, but she did find it quite amusing when customers came to her, thinking they'd grown something. And they were none the wiser.  
    _You're terrible,_ she joked to herself, giggling a bit under her breath. She couldn't help it. Monsters were just so _stupid_.

    "We've got it all! Teas, seeds, oils, soaps! Trying to diet? No problem, we've got healthier alternatives to our snacks." She pointed out a monster toward the back of the crowd. "You, dear! You're here for a reason, aren't you? Well, don't go home empty-handed! I'm offering to you, my lovely audience, a one-time offer of only half price on all my products! I'm practically _giving_ them away!"  
    Monsters fumbled and tripped over each other, each fighting to reach the stage before anyone else. Fights broke out, people shouted and swore in every direction.  
    "... While supplies last," she added, smartly, with a devious grin.  
    It was all too easy. All she had to do was spout her sales to any monster willing to listen, tell them exactly what they want to hear, and then sit back and watch as her business pays for itself. And, all the while, she can relax in the intoxicating scent of her beautiful lavender fields, most of which she greedily kept for herself. Her plants were her pride and joy, right next to her precious pet. Oh, she loved her pet more than life itself. Money could never come close to buying her such a happiness greater than that.  
    ... But it could cut it pretty close. There wasn't much she cared about in this world, but if someone twisted her arm and made her list about five things she actually valued, she could make a good guess; in order, her pet, money, her lavender, herself, and money came to mind. Money twice because, well, you could never have too much of that. She howled with laughter.  
    _Oh... I love being me!_

    In the crowd, she spotted a face, however small among the group, that stared at her, uneasily. She recognized him as one of her regulars. Though she was almost certain he'd already long been onto her lies, he seemed too desperate to call her out on it. The man made great effort to avoid as much contact with others as he could as he made his way to the stand, but by the time the crowd had cleared, all the boxes were gone and spiders were already counting their gold at the register. He picked up a price tag off the floor, and gawked. She wanted 200 gold a pop!  
    "That's outrageous, I can't afford this!" He tugged at the hood on his head, and turned to Muffet. "hey, lady, this is too expensive! Not all of us can afford this!"  
    Looking the skeleton up and down, she eyed him carefully. Her many beady, dark eyes analyzed him for any signs of a lie or proof of cash - usually, she could tell by heavy-looking pockets, the faint jingling of gold, or dishonest mannerisms - but came up short. It seemed he was telling the truth. She scanned his face, only to find he looked completely defeated, and guilty. She’d caught him in her web.  
    _Perfect._  
    She narrowed her eyes. Should she take pity on the man, others would surely follow, begging for deals on her items. But she knew he was one of her most loyal customers, a valuable asset to her reputation. To her business. Her wallet. To _her._ Whether she liked it or not, she couldn't afford to lose her best-paying customer. Besides... he knew she was a fake, she could just _feel_ it. Word got out that her remedies weren't actually helping, and she'd go bankrupt.  
    _Well, give him what he wants, then._  
    A kind of sickeningly sweet smile was then plastered onto her face.  
    _But don't make it too easy._  
    "Sans, dear! How've you been? How's your brother faring?"  
    Behind his mask, he frowned.  
    "He's still Papyrus..." he recalled his bro trying to make his own food that morning, but inevitably falling over instead, bones not able to support his weight anymore. "... Still hopeful as ever, and completely..."  
    Muffet raised an eyebrow.  
    "Oblivious?" She added.  
    " _Himself,_ " Sans interrupted, bitter, "no amount of anything could change that."  
    "So what seems to be the issue, then, dearie?"  
    "He's still sick," his eyes darkened, now only hollow pits in his skull. Admittedly, she grew a bit anxious. So did everyone else nearby, too. You didn't mess around with the infamous 'Judge's little brother. "He _hurts_."

    And you _especially_ didn't hurt him, in any way, shape, or form.  
    She gulped, concealing her growing anxiety with another cheeky grin.  
    "Well, then take this. On the house."  
    A box of tea was tossed to him, containing almost no amount of actual lavender at all. But, of course, he was sold, just like everyone else. He fumbled to catch it, nearly falling over.  
    "I'd buy one more," he said, scratching the back of his neck, "but I don't have the gold on me, not right now."  
    The spider chuckled, batting a hand.  
    "Nonsense, dear. You can pay me as you get it."  
    Another fake smile sold the deal. He gratefully took the tea and tossed a small bag of gold her way, jingling as she caught it.  
    "Tell him I said hello, Sansy~!"  
    With an angry look he concealed with his hood, he waved a bit, then, as if he was never there, he disappeared.

    He scared her. He really, _really_ did. To a spider obediently perched on her shoulder, she whispered.  
    "He knows too much."  
    And he did. But he didn't want to admit it. Because, in his eyes, admitting defeat was just as bad as succumbing to the disease entirely. And, besides. If he let himself lose his temper, who knew what would happen. Likely, he'd lash out at the spider lady, prompting a hasty visit from the royal guard, or, at the very least, her swarm of spiders he liked to refer to as the mafia. Shady creatures, those spiders were, with so many legs and eyes there _had_ to be some ulterior motive. Why else would someone give away such valuable medicine for so little (despite the prices being high as a cat's back, and hardly affordable, at least, not to anyone he knew, personally.) Why else would she make the cure so easily accessible? Well, if you could even _call_ it that. Because he knew for a fact it wasn't just out of the goodness of her heart.  
    Sans knew Miss Muffet was a scam. Nothing more than a greedy, power-hungry woman that spoiled her pet so much it's become fat as a pig. You could shove the little bastard over and it'd roll away. He was shocked it could still walk. And her spiders, her little minions, were nothing better than the woman herself. He found one in his hoodie pocket the other day, tried to take his gold! Not that he had much to begin with. He _hated_ the damn things. Creepy. He didn't trust anything that had more legs than common sense. Sure, they did all of Muffet's dirty work, but they were _stupid_. For such cunning creatures.  
    He shivered.  
    _Stupid things give me the_ _heebies_ _._

    Though, he found himself biting back a grin, a throaty chuckle rising in his throat. It'd been forever since he got a good laugh, and today he got just that. He gave the con artist exactly what she deserved, and that, in itself, was enough for him to crack a smile. He just hoped she didn't figure out that the gold he paid her was entirely fake.

 **\---**  
**Save?**  
**Yes ❤  No**  
**\---**


	6. Medic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A human child walks into a bar...

    _Pop._  
    With one quick snap of his fingers, he was home, standing right outside their front door. The snow had stopped, for now, at least, so he wondered where the human had gone. He assumed to the Inn, for the sake of warmth. It wasn't like he'd take them to his house right off the bat, no way he would leave them alone with his baby brother. He'd find them later; for now, he had Pap to take care of. He shifted the boxes of bullshit tea in his arms so he could open the door, kicking it open with his shoe before knocking the snow off on the doorway. As usual, he greeted the quiet house.  
    "Hey, bro, I'm home, you need anything?"  
    The TV was clicking between channels, and he eyed the bundle of red blankets on the couch. They moved a bit. Damn, it was hot in here.  
    "Brother! You wouldn't _believe_ what I saw today!"  
    It shattered his heart to hear that his brother's once obnoxious and loud voice had become so weak and sick over time. He broke down into another coughing fit before he was able to continue.  
    "A human! I saw a _human!_ "  
    He cracked a smile.  
    "Really?"  
    "Yes, yes, outside! Through the-" another wave of violent coughing, only adding to his pounding migraine, "through the window!"  
    As if on instinct, Sans gave him two red capsules and a glass of water, which he gratefully took and swallowed. Instantly, he began to feel a bit better. The magic of monster medicine.

    Papyrus knew he was sick. Very sick. It was a terminal illness, and he shouldn't have even caught it. But, his kindness got the better of him when he spent so long taking care of Undyne. He was a skeleton, so it shouldn't have even affected him. But he was only a bit less susceptible to the disease, not completely immune, as he'd thought. And he'd had it longer than he'd had the symptoms. But the disease had adapted to his body, finding all new ways to make their host miserable. He was likely the beginning of an entirely new strain of the virus, now stronger and powerful enough to do so much harm to a more immune monster.  
    "You saw a human, huh? Fascinating."  
    There was definitely an amused tone in his voice.  
    "Brother, I _must_ go capture it!" The bundle of blankets began to move, and a very weak looking skeleton crawled out in his pajamas. Though Sans advised against it, he did try to guide him, to support his weight to prevent him from collapsing. But it didn't help, and he still fell, almost into the TV.  
    "Bro, you don't need to even be up and walking. Let alone leave the house, you're freezing as is."  
    Papyrus knew he was right. His teeth were chattering, so he returned to the safety of his shell of blankets, and sighed. He used to be so full of energy. Now, he was just about as lazy as his brother, and never left the couch. He just sat and watched TV all day while Sans worked, or bought groceries, or cooked, or cleaned. Rarely did he ever see his brother rest anymore, and he would've been proud of him if he didn't know that he was pushing himself too much. Sans had gone from one extreme to the other, from extremely lazy to working himself to death.  
    "Brother, I think I'll be alright to walk-"  
    "Pap, no. You need to rest." He opened one of the boxes and took a bag of tea out. There was a lot less than the usual (still rather skimpy) amount of purple dots in the bag this time, and he frowned.  
    _Cheapskate._  
    "How about this," he said, remembering his plan. "You stay here and rest, while I go capture the human. I'll brew your tea and then I'll leave."  
    This made his face light up.  
    "Really, Sans? You would do that for me?"  
    "Of course."  
    So it was settled. Sans would brew his tea and then set out to "capture" the human, although he knew he'd just have to find out where they went. He'd not-so-accidentally left out the part where he'd already met the kid about an hour ago, and had just told them to wander for a bit while he took care of some things (he'd also suggested they walk past the house a couple of times, just to be sure he saw them.) The kid was pretty cool with that. At least, he thought. He didn't know, they talked with their hands. Reminder to invest in a whiteboard and some markers.

    Frisk had somehow managed to get lost in the town during the snowstorm, but luckily they'd found their way into a warm building. Hesitantly, they walked in and looked around, curious. Only a couple monsters we're inside - about two or three dog monsters, a... horse? and a flame monster, behind the bar. A neon sign on the wall said "Grillby's," but it was unplugged. A sign above it said "Medic."  
    Stick dragging the wooden floor behind them, they made their way to the bar. Nobody even seemed to notice, too caught up in their own food or quiet conversations to pay any attention. Everyone looked sad.  
    _Tap tap tap tap._  
    They rapped at the counter with their stick, and waited. The flame monster, confused, peered over the bar and down at them. They only stared.  
    "... Hello."  
    Frisk waved.

    ...

    "... Take a seat."  
    They nodded, dropping their stick in the floor and climbing (miserably kicking their legs) onto the barstool taller than they were. When they were finally situated, they sat on their hands and kicked their feet.  
    The man only blinked.  
    "... Okay. Want something?"  
    They shrugged.  
    "... Do you like fries?"  
    Shrug.

    ...

    "I'll get you fries."  
    A thumbs up, and he left. Presumably to make food.  
    Frisk had never been in a bar before. Well, it looked like a bar, anyway. From what they'd seen in movies. Even the run-down, abandoned bars they'd seen around town, they were too much of a good kid to ever go inside one. Then they'd have a guilty conscience. And nobody would be there to correct them. Blasphemy. They really wished they had someone to monitor them, really. They'd be such a good kid. Really. They would. They always went to bed on time. Nine thirty. Ten on weekends. Although, they weren't really sure what day it was. They'd lost track about three years ago. So they just guessed. And today, they decided it was a Tuesday.  
When the fire man returned and placed a basket of food in front of them, they weren't sure what to do. It wasn't until he demonstrated by taking a fry and eating it that they knew it was theirs. They took off their mask and picked up fries, one by one, and chewing it completely before grabbing another one.  
    "I've never seen you around before," the man said in a calm, low voice. They nodded.  
    "You're a human, so that makes sense."  
    Another nod.  
    Grillby didn't mind the awkward exchange of conversation all that much, too focused on cleaning a dish for it to bother him. He was just happy to have someone to talk to that wasn't seriously depressed or sobbing on his clean counter.

    ...

    "What's your name?"  
    They paused in their eating to sign.  
    'Frisk.'  
    The man nodded, slowly.  
    "Alright. I don't know what that means, so I'm just gonna call you human."  
    Frisk nodded, understandable. Then the silence resurfaced. Neither of them seemed to mind much.

    “So, what’s your story?”  
    The child gave the flame monster a puzzled glance, knitting their eyebrows and tilting their head to the side. He looked amused.  
    “C’mon, kid. _Everyone’s_ got a story. Look around.”  
    They took a glance around the room at the few lingering patrons, but still didn’t understand what the man had meant. He continued.  
    “Her, over there, with the axe,” the man pointed to a sad looking dog near the window, looking quite lonely. “She lost her husband to the disease. So torn up about it that she couldn’t even attend the services this morning. She’s been there all day, just staring out the window and ordering drinks.”  
    Frisk felt quite sad having heard that.  
    “And, him,” he gestured to a horse, who was messing with an ace bandage wrapped around his arm, a thick, yellow stain on the side. “He’s here drinking so he won’t hurt so bad after his surgery scheduled for this afternoon. His arm’s to be amputated.”

    “It’s the mold. S’why his blood is golden. It happens.”  
    Frisk suddenly felt nauseous, and nervously eyed the half full basket of fries. Suddenly they were a bit too greasy and the smell was a bit too overbearing for their stomach to handle, and they nudged them away a bit.  
    “See, kid, _everyone’s_ got a story. I’m a bartender, I know anything and everything about people. That’s what I’m here for. I give people alcohol and a listening ear so they can forget the problems on their mind.” Grillby plucked a bottle of alcohol off the shelf behind the bar and slid it down the counter towards the horse monster. He popped the cork out, sighed, and took a swig of it.  
    “But, nowadays I mainly cater to people who need the food to get better. I'm a medic,” he picked a fry out of their basket, “If ya didn’t know, monster food heals. Well, somewhat.”  
    Frisk was vaguely aware of the differences between monster food and human food; as far as they knew, monster food was a _lot_ better than dried rations and expired cans of green beans. Other than that, they didn’t really care. The food they found back on the surface often tasted like dirt. They knew that because they also tried to eat dirt once or twice.  
    “So, rather than this being a tavern, like the good old days…” he sighed and began to wipe down the counter with an old, grey rag (that, for the record, should have burned up when he touched it.) “I mainly deal with dying monsters. I offer food for the sick, heat for the cold… it’s a blood-freezing disease, you know.”  
    This must be a bad place to live if you’re sick, then. Was it still snowing? Maybe a little.  
    “It’s sad to see customers come every day and then, out of the blue, just stop showing up. Never see or hear of ‘em again.”  
    Though young and, well, not the brightest, Frisk understood pretty well the concept of death. Living in a post-apocalyptic world where everyone just one day stopped living, it opened their eyes at a pretty early age to what it really means to die. You had a lot of time for contemplating when you’ve got an entire (as far as you know) world to yourself. Maybe what they lacked the most was a decent understanding of what it means to _live_. But what did they know, they were six.

    “Saw you hanging around Sans earlier, how’s he?” the man looked invested enough in their conversation to stop cleaning for a while. Despite a lack of facial features, he looked concerned.  
    Frisk shrugged, giving an indifferent expression. They didn’t know him all that well, but they assumed he was decent. Maybe. Well, he hadn’t told them otherwise.  
    “He used to be my best customer,” he stopped, then frowned and snorted, “well, if by ‘best customer,’ I mean, ‘has a 10,000 G tab to pay off,’ then yeah. Best customer, alright. Came here every day for years, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a single gold piece from the guy.”  
    This made them giggle.

    “Well, look who it is,” Grillby said, leaning over the counter as the bell over the door jingled. In walked Sans, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “We were just talking about you. Well, _I_ was. Kid doesn’t talk.”  
    Sans nodded.  
    “Yeah, I noticed.” He took the seat to the right of Frisk, looking as if he hadn’t sat down in hours.  
    “How’ve you been? You look terrible.”  
    “Thanks for the reminder. And I guess I’ve been alright.” The skeleton took a look around the establishment, the previous look of fondness in his eyes disappearing. It was like he’d just adjusted to the atmosphere. “Place’s lookin’ dead.”

    “Place _is_ dead,” Grillby said as he cleaned up Frisk’s leftovers, paper crunching in the basket, “the Underground’s a ghost town. Monsters are dying faster than they can plan funerals.”  
    “Damn,” Sans said, eyes closed (though it completely eluded Frisk as to how,) “it’ll be us, next.”  
    "We'll be fine, Sans. I'm made of fire, and you're all bones," he paused, thinking, "but yet again, look at your brother."  
    "I think that's what I'm worried about most, Grillbz," Sans was staring dead at a dent in the countertop. Eyes dark, emotionless. He smelled faintly of lavender. "We're gonna be here longer'n anyone else."  
    And they were quiet again. Which, of course, being a kid, Frisk had to change. They waved their arms to get their attention before signing.  
    'I wanna help, what do I gotta do?'  
    This only earned a blank stare from the two men.  
    "Kid, we're gonna have to get you a notebook or somethin'. Because I have no clue what you're saying."

 **\---**  
**Save?**  
**Yes ❤   No**  
**\---**


	7. First Words and a Bundle of Blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, small human. Meet Paps.

    They were still a little huffy about the fact that nobody could understand them, but Frisk followed behind Sans through town. Snow crunched under their boots, every now and then kicking up as they walked and getting their leggings wet. They eagerly awaited Sans' next joke.  
    "Arright, kid. Got another one." He grinned as if it were the first time he'd smiled in a while. "What did the fish say when it swam into a wall?"  
    They thought a moment, then shrugged.  
    "Dam."  
    Muffled laughter from behind their mask made Sans seem to relax a bit. If there was one thing he could do right, it was jokes.  
    _A real icebreaker,_ the old Sans would say, kicking the snow, but he didn't. He was already starting to wear himself out just trying to lighten the mood. Never would he have guessed he'd grow to be tired of his own jokes.

    They stopped in front of the only house that seemed occupied in the whole town, covered in holiday lights that were falling down. In the window was a red mess of blankets.  
    "Welp. We're here."  
    Taking out a key, he unlocked the door and shoved it open, ice breaking and raining down on their heads. Frisk shook the ice and snow from their hair and peered in.  
    "Hey, Pap, we're home. Need anything?" The usual greeting.  
    They heard a TV, humming with static and screen blurry. People must get really bad reception down here. Through the fuzz, they could barely make out the image of an old holiday movie rerun, once very popular on the surface. Though in recent years they hadn't really attempted to watch it on tape, it was a movie they'd enjoyed when they were younger.  
    The bundle of red blankets they'd seen in the window was sitting on the couch, flicking through different channels.  
    "I got a human for ya."  
    The bundle shifted a bit, turned to look towards the two figures by the door, and coughed.  
    "I can't believe you did it! This-"  
    He couldn't finish talking, interrupted by another fit of coughing, and his brother almost immediately returned from the kitchen with a mug, steam rolling off of it.  
    "Careful. Hot."

    "Thank you, brother," a weak voice replied. Frisk could smell the hot tea brewing in the cup, and it smelled like lavender. Two fuzzy red gloves reached out to take it and, after taking a sip, continued, sounding much stronger.  
    "As I was saying, this is amazing! I'm so happy!"  
    Taking his scarf and jacket off, the smaller brother replied,  
    "'Course I did."  
    It was hot in the house, really hot in comparison to the knee-deep snow outside. The heavy black fabric that was draped over them suddenly became a bit too heavy, and the mask a bit too suffocating, so they questioned whether or not it was safe to get comfortable. Not every house would be as sterile as Toriel's was.

    Sans walked across the room, over to the couch, and, pulling the blanket down from his head, wrapped the red scarf he'd previously had around his neck around his little brother's skull. He also gave him his jacket, although it was still a bit wet from snow and cold. How could someone, especially someone with no skin, be so freezing in such a hot room?  
    Being the kind, caring child they were, Frisk wandered over to investigate, mask and cloak now laying abandoned on the arm of their couch. They grinned and waved enthusiastically. The figure under the bundle smiled. He was another skeleton, only his face was leaner and more structurally accurate to that of a human, as far as they knew, unlike his brother, who's bones were wider and bulkier than anything. A reoccurring trend they'd noticed, however, was that their bones were somehow pliable. It was as if they'd had skin, though they didn't, for them to make a variety of facial expressions there had to have been some difference. Normally a skull would be pretty limited in its expression, and they, somehow, were not. But the thing that set them apart from Toriel and Asriel, in their own observation, was not only the basic make up of their bodies but rather in the mannerisms they portrayed. Where Toriel was more jittery and paranoid, the two brothers were more relaxed; though Sans didn't look like he was going to be calming down any time soon, between running frequent trips through the house to care for his brother and trying to do housework in the process. He was finicky in his own ways, but not exactly the same as Toriel. Where she would've been rambling on and on about how messy she'd let the house get, or how she wouldn't be able to finish dinner before six at the rate she was going, Sans was actually distinctly quieter and maybe even a bit more efficient. This sparked more of an interest in Frisk, who, starting pretty recently, had been a little too fascinated with the concept of other living people and was eager to engage more.  
    It was such a small gesture, but it was special, all things considered. And Papyrus seemed to understand that, possibly a bit too pitted on the idea that the human - yes, the human, the one standing in his house, - was very agreeable and not at all as nasty and as aggressive as the tales had usually made them out to be. He wanted to believe that everything, everyone deserved at least a fighting chance as an individual, rather than as a collective. Besides, one bad apple often ruined the whole bunch. He'd seen it a lot of times before, and personally had a theory that this exact situation was what had led up to his race's eventual banishment underground. So, when the human had smiled at him, he instantly offered a bright smile in return. It was only courtesy, though he did pride himself on his outstanding manners.  
    "Hello, small human! I am Papyrus," he went to offer a hand to shake, but found them both occupied by his mug of tea. He settled on a weak nod and another smile.  
    They returned it.  
    "Ta kid don't talk much," Sans, from behind the television set, added in. He was fumbling with a bunch of thick cords and plugs and things Frisk was unfamiliar with. When their TV crapped out, they'd just found a new one somewhere and dragged it home. They remembered they had about four or five by the time they'd left the other morning.  
    "I ain't got a word outta 'em yet."  
    Frisk huffed again. Grubby hands signed, but nobody listened. Just watched in complete confusion.  
    "What is the human doing with their hands, brother?"  
    They sighed.

**+++**

    The brothers didn't talk much. Time moved agonizingly slowly in this house, and Frisk had to keep from groaning when the TV began to blur with bad reception again. Not that anything they really cared about was on - just some old human movies and some marathons of the same few monster rom-coms on the eight channels they were somehow able to get. They'd long since given up on trying to figure any sensible explanation for most of anything involving the monster world, so they just decided to occupy their mind with other things.  
    They played with their feet. Squeaky yellow rain boots made a rubbery sound when they pulled their toes back. They tapped the toes together a few times, cleaned a spot off the top with their sleeve, and kicked them for about three minutes. They braided their unruly hair, which was dirty, tangled, ratty, and unevenly cut at the bottoms. This only resulted in them tangling it more, since Frisk had never learned to braid. Then they examined their hands, turning them over a few times and making note of every little detail they saw. They let their eyes trace over the swirls in their thumb prints for who knows how long.  
    But trivial things such as these were of no use to the child mind when it came to entertainment, especially not theirs. They needed adventure, that's what they needed - a good, old fashioned romp through the woods. Maybe climb a few trees, throw rocks at stuff. Kid stuff. Pretend logs are fortresses, sticks are swords, and eat any and all berries you come across. Most of which, probably poisonous. But you didn't know until you tried. It's from this that Frisk derived a sort of survival guide for themselves, starting with "If it looks like you can eat it, eat it. If it wasn't something you can eat, then make sure you really can't eat it. If you're not sick by the third try, it could be food."  
No matter how many times that rule betrayed them, they still abided by it.  
The more they sat on the couch, next to the quiet bundle of blankets Papyrus was always wrapped up in, the more their arms and legs itched to move. Their fingers twitched, so they bit their nails. Tasted like dirt.  
    "Human, you seem a little antsy," the bundle spoke, making them jump. They grinned and dismissed the idea with a wave of their hand, and tried to focus on the TV again. Being polite was one thing. But it was absolutely killing them to sit still this long.  
    "I'm sorry I can't be much for conversation, small human."  
    Once again, they waved him off. But they were beginning to fidget.  
    Need to move.  
    Need to move.  
    Need to move.

    "Kid."  
    They jumped.  
    "You're gonna hurt yourself." Sans joked.  
    'If I could talk, I'd feel better.'  
    Frisk didn't even know why they were still signing. They couldn't understand them, and-  
    "Here."  
    A large, heavy board was tossed into their lap. A worn-down corner dug into their tummy. It looked like an old white board, like their old speech therapist had used to explain bigger words to them as a toddler. In the top right corner there was a few sloppy letters accidentally written in permanent marker instead of dry-erase.  
    "I used to use it with Paps when he was a baby bones. Use it to talk."  
    He tossed Frisk a red dry-erase marker and tugged at the mask on his face. He frowned.  
    "You _can_ write, can't ya, kid?"  
    Frisk nodded, maybe a bit hesitant. They hadn't really written much else but their name for the past how many years. Could they even remember what they knew? Maybe if they had their old worksheets, from when they'd covered the alphabet as a toddler...

    Sans had already caught on and acted on their hesitancy with a dismissing wave.  
    "Don't worry 'bout it, kid, just try yer best."  
    A quick nod, and they uncapped the marker and started to write. But they stopped, briefly, checking their spelling. Frisk was pretty sure the 's' was backwards, but they proudly showed it off anyway.  
    _'mi_ _naym_ _is Frisk.'_  
    A dark look passed Sans' face and he wondered.  
    _Are you really?_

 **\---**  
**Save?**  
**Yes ❤     No**  
**\---**


	8. The Mundane Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk and Sans do some shopping.

    All at once, the Underground went silent.

    TV's were shut off, monsters paused in their conversations, all keeping one ear open to listen. Heads stuck out windows and doors, monsters wandering outside stopped dead in their tracks, in one unspoken agreement to be quiet. The glittering gems on the ceiling seemed to dim, simultaneously, out of respect. Had it been a little less sad, perhaps the event would've been peaceful, or calming in some way; maybe the silence wouldn't have held such an intensity that no meager fight could parallel, or a suspense so distinct, it was unmatchable to their knowledge. But, unfortunately, it was just about anything if not sad. Sad in the expressions on their faces, sad in the sense that all life seemed to stop all at once, and sad because they were all so used to the feeling.

    Even while the human child slept peacefully, as did the skeleton hunched over a pile of bills on the table, one remained awake in their home, just as quiet as the others. He waited, as he always did. It was kind of a respect thing, in his mind. A moment of silence to what he couldn't quite change. A deserving salute to whom he used to admire.

    A cry of agony tore through the collective silence. Distant but equally moving in its tone, it continued. It grew louder and more emotional, pain seeping through the cracks of her vocal chords giving way. It wavered, but held, before dying down, into what he could only imagine as choked sobs, had he been closer to hear. Briefly, he thought about how he was glad he couldn't. In times like now, Papyrus hardly had his own strength to keep him going. Hearing just how defeated and miserable she is now, more than the nightly habit of silencing himself for her, would likely just make it harder. As selfish as he worried it may sound. But, who could blame him, not being able to bear the sound of a fallen hero?

    ... Life was depressing enough as it is.

    Outside, passing-by monsters could faintly hear, in the dead of night, the sounds of rock hitting rock, then the sound of scattered rubble following. Loud enough to be heard from such a distance! They almost seemed relieved they didn't live so close. Though, that was likely her point.

    Then, the silence returned. And, for a few moments, they waited.

    ...

    And when they were certain it was over, they bowed their heads slightly, and continued about their night as per usual. Sound returned to the world again, and life carried on. Monsters returned to their respective homes, or simply continued whatever it was they had been doing. And that was that.

    Papyrus had never really been a religious type. But, at that moment, he felt it necessary and thought some form of silent prayer for her. For him. For everyone. To what deity, he didn't know. Just to anyone willing to listen. It was enough to ease his worries just slightly, enough to rest, at least for the night.

    And so, he did.

 

* * *

    The day following was due to be more hectic. Frisk had gathered that they'd been somewhat a "gift" (more like a surprise) for Papyrus, but it didn't seem like they had much more of a reason for staying. They didn't mind, really - it wasn't like they had anything better to do. Maybe a bath. But that was about all they had on their agenda. So, they found themselves bored once again. Being a child, they made this fact abundantly clear to anyone who'd listen. Well, read.  
_"im bored."_  
    It had been hastily scribbled down in blue marker, but they took no time in parading it to whoever was closest. Which, in this instance, had been Sans, still half-asleep and sore from sleeping hunched over all night. It almost startled him, actually, when they had all but shoved the whiteboard in his face. Regardless, he replied as awake-sounding as he could muster.  
    "Hi, bored. I'm Sans."  
    They narrowed their eyes, taking their whiteboard back in protest. Had they ever learned to, they likely would've whined like a child. They wondered how to spell that? How would one _spell_ a whine?

    They looked as if they were thinking so hard they would soon manage to hurt themselves in doing so. And it was almost amusing, but time was of the essence, and those bills were due in one hour. Not to mention all the running around Sans would have to do, alone. Which wouldn't be as much of a problem, had he been quite strong enough at the time to use a small amount of magic.

    And then a lightbulb seemed to click on in his head, an idea, and a good one.

    There were a few things he'd worried most about, regarding his lengthy schedule today. Besides doing them all alone, once again, he first worried about his bro, as he always did when he left for the day. He always made sure to leave Paps everything he might need for the day within arm's reach, kept his phone charged and his ringer on, and then some. It was the constant fear that he may not be there when Sans got back that kept him in a hurry while out. And, alongside that, it kept his patience wound unbelievably tight.  
    Then, there was the whole, "first day, worst day" situation, regarding the kid. It wasn't like he didn't know them (Hell, he knew them more than anyone, but he couldn't _say_ that, especially not with complete certainty,) but the fact that he _did_ know them is why he worried. Time after time he came home that first day to some sort of surprise, not one of them good. Something was always broken, it changed every time. Whether it be some household appliance, or something more valuable. Perhaps not the latter, but the first option was always in some attempt of kindness. The kid tried to make lunch for Papyrus, and as a result set the fridge on fire. Or... the kid wanted to help clean, but they accidentally used laundry detergent instead of bleach to mop the floors with. You know, that kind of dumb, but cute, kid stuff that was only cute until he had to clean it up.

    There was another issue, one that worried him the most. Yes, Sans _knew_ Frisk. Better than most, yeah. But once again, _knowing_ them was exactly what scared him shitless. He didn't want to come home to another "surprise" like he had maybe twice or three times before. Sometimes, it would come later, but he could worry about that later on.  
    ... He didn't want to think about it much now.  
    "Hey, actually, kid, how'sabout you come with me. I got some stuff to do."  
    His new idea solved, well, most of these problems. Not only could he keep an eye on them and keep them out of trouble, but now he had company to help him with errands. Which, by extension, meant he got home to Paps sooner. He kept his offer vague, though, because he doubted the kid would want to come along if they knew they were just gonna help him carry heavy groceries and pay bills. 'Stuff to do' was vague enough they would probably think it's some kind of fun thing.  
    They scribbled on their whiteboard again a message of misspelled approval, and shortly, they were off.

 

* * *

    The Underground was bigger than Frisk had imagined. They'd spent their whole short life knowing the world was big, but never venturing out enough to see it themselves. Now that they were in a new world, they were eager to explore it. Not to mention, this new world was actually living!  
    ... Mostly.  
    Under their mask, the small child had big eyes. They were so eager to explore a new place that they couldn't stay where they were supposed to be, so Sans had to keep a hold on their tiny kid hand so they didn't run off. They had been asked to wear their parka, the one with the horns and the wings, as to "not get cold while they were out." But it wasn't cold here. In fact, it was almost hot. But Sans wouldn't let them take it off. They huffed, but were quickly distracted by something else.

    For a dying society, the town they were in was pretty busy. Down roads, carts were set up side to side along both sides of the crowded walkways. Voices chatting and vendors selling and the sound of busy life filled the entire area, and for the first time in... ever, really, Frisk felt a sort of pit form in their gut. They were confused. Tummy aches had never felt like this before. They were sharp and gurbly, and maybe a bit nauseating. But this was different, they thought. This was less of a pain than an emptiness, or a sinking, drooping, exhausting feeling that they couldn't quite explain. Frisk's tummy churned and was beginning to hurt now, but they still knew one thing for certain, though its reason was still unknown; they didn't want to walk.  
    Sans had already started walking into the crowd, and, unfortunately, had still been holding their hand to guide them. He hadn't seemed to notice their reluctance whatsoever. That is, until Frisk dug their heels into the ground, pulled back, even fell on their butt in an attempt to stay in place.  
    "Kid, what's up? We need to go."  
    They vigorously shook their head, then regretted it as a wave of nausea hit them as a result.  
    Sans had tried to figure out just what was bothering them, but came up short. Even he couldn't find anything wrong with the crowd ahead of them that might have made them afraid in any way. Just a bunch of monsters going about their day. Obviously, they weren't afraid of monsters, so what was the deal?  
    "It's gonna close. We still have a few blocks to go," he checked the clock on his phone, "and 15 minutes to get there. Come on."  
    Once again, they refused. Even as he tried to pull them off the ground, the small human resisted.

    What worried him most at this point wasn't how late they would be at the rate they were going, but was instead the amount of attention the kid was getting by onlookers. Pedestrians slowed in their pace to watch the stubborn, cloaked child refuse to walk, some chatting amongst themselves as they passed. This made him nervous. The parka he'd made Frisk wear, along with the mask, goggles, and gloves, could only hide so much. They had a total of 0% flesh showing, which was definitely helping them, but if they were to attract too much attention to themselves, it wouldn't matter too much. And, yeah, while he _could_ simply argue the getup was to keep them from being sick (which wasn't entirely a lie,) it wasn't hard to tell that they were most definitely a human, if you knew what you were looking for, even with the black fabric clinging tight to any remaining exposed skin on their legs. Which was bad.

_Pop._

    They shortcutted out of sight, much against Sans' right mind. Frisk was, now, sitting butt on the concrete, arms crossed in childish frustration, fighting the oh-so-familiar burning in their eyes. Finally, something they remembered. They were starting to feel a bit better, now.  However, Sans was too busy trying to regain himself to ask. He panicked, and that wasn't good, he shouldn't have done that - really, he shouldn't have. But he freaked! He knew he should have a better grip on himself, he _knew_ better, but there were too many people there. Too many dangers, too many ideas. He acted on instinct.  
    Sans sighed.  
    "We can talk about it later. Come on," he said, grabbing their hand again and pulling, dragging them out of the alley and further into town.

    In an attempt to soothe the uncomfy feeling in their gut, Frisk distracted themselves with things around them. Something they noticed was the near-constant use of purple in the area they were in. In fact, most the town looked purple. Briefly they remembered the purple halls of the Ruins with Toriel. The bricks that built up houses were all different shades of purple, ranging from a nice, pastel lilac to a deeper plum mauve. And the ground was concrete bricks; occasionally, one would be painted a dark green. How peculiar, they had never seen any town like this one.  
    And the residents! Never before had they seen so many monsters. Hell, before now, they'd never seen a monster. But it was more living, sentient beings all in one place than they had seen in a lifetime. Even better, these were all so unique. Across the way, a small family of what looked to be deer monsters chatted with a friendly cart owner, selling vegetables. A bird monster was sitting patiently on a bench, looking for someone. And a group of monster children of all kinds raced by, giggling and playing what looked to be an intense game of tag. They felt bad for the monster following them with no arms.  
    Had they been given the opportunity, Frisk thought to themselves that, growing up, they likely would have been a people-watcher. Not to be creepy, in any way, of course - but the idea of all these unique, alive beings all in one place, living and moving and talking... it simply blew their mind. Although, they supposed that, if they had grown up around such things, it wouldn't feel as special. So, instead, they inwardly congratulated themselves on not dying.  
    "We're here," said Sans, in his usual baritone voice. The slightest of relieved smiles passed his skull, briefly, before he turned and told them to wait there while he ran inside to deliver a small manilla envelope, filled with what Frisk could only assume to be some dumb legal documents and signatures. They giggled at the idea.

_"This document hereby states that houseowner Sans Skelly-man is, in fact, kind of a tightwad. Sign here, please, to confirm."_

    Was that how basic business worked? They smiled humbly to themselves as they thought of how good of a businessperson they would be in the Underground.  
    After a short wait outside the tall, looming, purple building, with a sign on the front they could only _partially_ read, the duo set back out to find more adventure! Or, in reality, they just went to the store. Which was just as fun, to Frisk.  
    They had only been left alone briefly while Sans had set off to find a cart to push around the small market. But, when he came back... nothing.

 _This kid is going to get us_ _both_ _dusted._

    Meanwhile, they had set off to find their own adventure, far different from that of Sans roaming the monster bazaar and occasionally throwing something into the cart. No, Frisk had slipped behind one of the shop tables and out of the market entirely, in search of something they couldn't quite name. But they'd surely know when they found it.  
    In the back alleys of the monster town, things were still as lively as they'd expected. Distant sounds of crowds and people talking echoed in each corridor they made their way through. Faint music, oddly enough, could be heard from the other sides of brick walls. Aside from that, though, the alleyways were dead, save for the clusters of moths that would flutter in and out of sight, occasionally attacking their face and ears. The dimmest of street lights lit the entire urban maze, highlighting murky puddles of water on the grungy purple concrete.  
    Cockroaches. Cockroaches! Finally, something they recognized. They'd always befriended these growing up on the surface, so they lowered their hand to the dirty ground just long enough for three or four of the little critters on. They quickly skittered their way around their arms and head, investigating. Their little legs were fast.

    Not too far away, Frisk heard a crowd. A lot like the one they had previously been in, but this one had more _oomph_ to it, as if they were excited about something. They followed the sound a few corridors down until they found themselves in the very back of a large, eager crowd of monsters, all staring ahead at something they couldn't see from their height. A voice - chipper, sweet, like desserts - could be heard, loud and proud from way ahead of the commotion.  
    "No more will we lose our families!" It said.  
    Curious, they found an old, wooden crate, the word "SEEDS" stamped onto the side in purple ink.  It wobbled a little with pressure, but they deemed it sturdy enough. Frisk stacked a few and climbed their way up, only to look out over a sea of monsters bigger and unlike anything they had ever witnessed before. There were monsters of all types; rabbits, dogs, cats, birds, snowflakes, moths, deer, horses, airplanes... but ahead of them all, with all eyes on her, stood a beautiful spider monster holding a microphone.  
She talked avidly with her many arms, all pale purple and seemingly soft and petite, much like the rest of her. She had twin blackish pigtails on either side of her head, a plain mask over her mouth (or at least, where they would assume her mouth would be,) and three sets of inky black eyes. Her clothes were gorgeous, looking as if they were spun by hand, tight at the wrists and lined with lace. It was all purple, with delicate spiderwebs tailored into it, and shiny, like silk. It draped over a simple black skirt and petticoat ever so slightly, and it was all topped with a ribbon tie at the collar. She looked rich, if anything. Everything about her looked expensive and luxurious, and it was beginning to make Frisk feel nervous. But they found themselves listening intently to her speech.  
    "I have invented a product that will change your lives for the greater!"  
    The crowd cheered enthusiastically, and they wished they knew how to whistle.

    They sat like that, just listening, for a solid two minutes before they were found by a certain (panicked) skeleton, who quickly hauled them back to the market.

 **\---**  
**Save?**  
**Yes ❤     No**  
**\---**


	9. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans loses Frisk in a market.

 

 

**Quick recap of last**  
**chapter, and where we left** **off**  
**with our boi Sans:**

  
    _After a short wait outside the tall, looming, purple building, with a sign on the front they could only_ _ _partially__ _read, the duo set back out to find more adventure! Or, in reality, they just went to the store. Which was just as fun, to Frisk._  
    _They had only been left alone briefly while Sans had set off to find a cart to push around the small market. But, when he came back... nothing._

    _'_ _ _This kid is going to get us__ _ _both__ _ _dusted.__ _'_

 

**Now on with the chapter!**

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

    He honestly wasn't even mad at first. Really, he wasn't. Something was _going_ to happen, he knew that. He had killer intuition when it came to this shit. It might as well have been this. But the more he scanned the area for any signs of the small human, the more he panicked. The more he panicked, the more he started to forget just how openly distraught he was being in a public area, and he quickly fumbled over himself as he noticed other monsters staring.

 

 

    He just needed to think. He wasn't going to find the damn escape artist just standing in one place and freaking out, there were steps he could take. Steps he _should_ take. Steps he didn't take at all, because he was too busy freaking out.  
    _The kid couldn't have gone far. Right?_

 

 

    This was bad. Really bad. He knew it, and surely they knew it too... right? They were a human in a monster world. A human, _alone_ in a monster world... a human _child._ Surely they understood that, too. It was almost like they were doing this on purpose. Did they know the things he knows? The things he _thought_ were just dreams. Nightmares. But if they were, would he even be considering that they were anything else? Maybe he just needed to listen to his gut for once.  
    _Oh wait. I_ _don't_ _have one, heh._  
There were quite a lot of monsters in the Capital city today. More so than usual. Purple and white flyers littered the concrete, reminding him that Muffet was having another one of her dumb, repetitive demos somewhere in the square. Probably why the crowds were thicker than usual. Yet another reason to add to his mental list of "Why Sans hates Muffet."

 

 

    _Reason #286: This._

 

 

    It was the same exact speech every time. She didn't even bother to change it up a little for each one, oh no. It was the exact same bullshit she told to each and every crowd she had. And it wasn't even new monsters! It was the same crowd, of the same monsters, and they all acted as if it were her first! There wasn't enough of a population left for a new crowd every day. Just the same twenty minute speech, to the same damn crowd of monsters.  
    Moreover, these bi-daily events _only_ seemed to annoy _him_. Sans had been to mulitple. Unfortunately, the only way to even have a chance of getting in on her "limited time offers" is if one were to stand through the entire thing. They'd also have to fight their way to the front in enough time before the stock was depleted, and then hope they could keep a grip on whatever it was they were holding. For sick monsters, they turned a whole new level of vicious when it came to those stupid purple boxes. But that wasn't important. Right now he had the kid to find, and he could finally go home and help his bro. No doubt he was hungry by now. Did Sans leave enough food for him? What if he tried to get up again? What if he fell? Sans knew all too well that Papyrus wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. He'd simply lay there, alone, and hurting... waiting for him to come home and see him. Assuming he didn't die before then...

 

 

    And then what? Then what would Sans do? Without his brother? For real, this time. Not some stupid nightmare or hallucination. His little brother, _actually_ gone. He didn't know what he would do. And it would be his fault! His fault, for taking too long, finding some kid he didn't even have to watch... all the weight of his brother's demise would entirely fall onto him. Sans knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. Without his brother, he'd...

 

 

    He'd be **devastated.**

 

 

    But then! Out of the corner of his eye socket - fluttering around a corner as they turned, sharply, into an alley - was a piece of familiar black cloth. Maybe a glimpse of a wing. Looked to be around the right height, surely it was the kid. Instantly, he darted into the alley after them. He skidded on the grimy concrete a handful of times, but kept running after the quick, little footsteps he could hear, always one turn ahead of him.  
    His hopes had soared when they had turned into a particularly longer strip of dimly lit alley, although still seemingly miles ahead of him. The kid had covertly turned and thrown something on the ground he couldn't quite see, and kept their pace as they turned another corner. Then, he stepped on them; a set of metal jax, old and worn, as if the kid has played with them their entire life. And he had just stepped on them, hearing the loud _crunch_ of metal under bone (even through the soles of his shoes) followed by a strangled, angry grunt in pain. This kid...  
    What was their _problem?_ Did they not see that it was him? Was this a _game_ to them? Was this _funny?_ Sans _knew_ funny. And you had to be one sick, twisted little person to find this amusing. This wasn't even dark humor anymore. This was borderline just being an asshole. He didn't care how old they were.

 

 

    He knew he could catch up to them if he took a shortcut. It was risky, yeah, but it was even riskier losing the kid and having to explain to Paps what happened... and possibly being jailed for the possession of a human soul. Sans couldn't go to jail. He had someone to take care of. Who else would, in his place? Nobody.  
    A quick blip and he was gone, another and he was somewhere else. The footsteps were quieter.  
    _Shit. I overshot it._  
    He tried again. Focusing his magic into his arms, his hands, then his fingers... it felt somewhat similar to static electricity. With an added coolness to it, like the cold feeling of a mint. He snapped.  
    _Pop._  
    Now where were they?  
    The steps were louder. One more try should do it. He took a deep breath, and...  
    There they were. Right behind him. Quickly he ducked behind a corner, waiting for just the right moment. They whizzed by, only to be stopped, abruptly, in mid stride. Had he not seen that there wasn't one, he might have assumed they had run smack into a brick wall, with how painfully they stopped running. But they didn't fall. Instead, they were held, suspended in the air for a brief few moments before being dropped (un-gracefully) onto their butt. Sans huffed and lowered his palm,  
    "Kid, I'm a pretty funny guy, but... if ya ain't noticed, I ain't fuckin'--"  
    ...  
    Their head, hooded, precipitously turned at what looked to be quite a painful angle... it had made their spine crack and the inside of their neck was protruding outward. Their eyes had been completely gone, replaced with two stark red, oozing lights in their place. Sticky, black liquid poured out of them and down their face, which looked as if it had been torn to form a gaping maw as endless as the glowing cavities it had for eyes, and as pitch black as the ooze that had seemingly become their skin.  
    "... laughin'..."  
    If he looked close enough, he could see flashes of white and red and light green as it passed over their skin for only a millisecond. Tiny rectangles of off colors, distortions in their body and skin he could tell he wasn't supposed to notice. Like pixels on a TV screen. As if they would hum softly if he listened closely. They dripped with the stuff, as if they had just been dunked into a vat of it. But rather than speaking (he almost wished they would have spoken, or at least laughed... or something,) they just stared at him, with a far away look. Silence. There was no proper sound to accompany the encounter, just simply silence and the low, unwavering humming of his soul in his ears. And a thousand mile stare, right into Sans' eye sockets, as if they were looking _through_ him rather than _at_ him. He turned to ensure there was nothing behind him.

  
    ...

 

 

    Nothing. He turned back around.

 

 

    "Where-!"

  
    And just like that, the child was gone; leaving no trace behind or significance that they had _ever_ been there in the first place.  
    Sans left that alley without any hesitation, and he ran until was able to find Frisk. They walked the entire way home, this time, with little to no groceries and not a single word spoken between them.

 

 

**\---**  
**Save?**  
**Yes ❤     No**  
**\---**

  
**Author's Note:** Yeah, this is short. That's because right now I'm looking for ideas to keep the story going while important plot stuff goes on in the background. I need ideas, meaning your comment would be very well appreciated! I need as many ideas to pick from as possible.

**They have to be:**

    _\- simple, one chapter ideas_  
_\- interesting... nobody wants to read a 3000+ word chapter about Sans losing his socks._  
_\- SFW_  
_\- featuring ONLY characters we've met this far into the story. (ex. no Alphys or Asgore or someone like that.)_

    These ideas can be cute, scary, angsty, sad, funny... whatever you like! However. Definitely going to lean towards funny ideas. Be as original as you can, and as detailed as you like. I can probably work with the idea regardless. ~ Em

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this chapter, and would like to see more quality content, leave kudos and subscribe to my friend Pastarru on YouTube! He made this awesome AU. Check his social media and this account for more content regarding Devastale!
> 
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> 
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